


the boys are calling for me

by recrudescence



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-26
Updated: 2011-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recrudescence/pseuds/recrudescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine's always so buttoned-up that seeing him in something casual is almost like seeing him naked, and Kurt can't unthink that comparison once he's made it.</p><p>Inspired by a prompt from <a href="http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/35812.html">Porn Battle XI</a>: <i>Kurt/Blaine, never have I ever</i>. I don't condone underage drinking or using Ke$ha references in casual conversation (unless it occurs among people one trusts implicitly).</p>
            </blockquote>





	the boys are calling for me

Fridays at Dalton can make Kurt feel a little melancholy. He never thought he'd miss anything about Lima, but now he finds himself driving there half the time anyway to seek out his friends from glee and feel like everything is normal again. This particular weekend, Burt calls and orders him to stay put, citing warnings about road conditions. Kurt goes back into his dorm with his car keys feeling too heavy in his pocket, and that's where Wes finds him.

“Hey, I thought you were going home.”

Kurt looks down at the toes of his boots, still damp from the snow. “My dad says the roads are too slippery.”

“Yeah, I don't think many people are going out tonight.” Wes straightens his tie, glancing at Kurt out of the corner of his eye. “This is totally hypothetical, but do you drink?”

Kurt thinks for a second he's met the private school equivalent of April Rhodes. “Uh. I thought school policy...”

“It's the _craziest_ thing. This bottle just showed up in my sock drawer.” Wes grins, looking like a campaign poster. “I need to get rid of it. You in?”

Maybe this is what it feels like to be invited to a Cool Kids party. Kurt doesn't have any experience to draw on and there's nothing else on his schedule for the evening besides moping. “Sure?”

As it turns out, there's an impromptu movie night in Blaine and David's room, since David downloaded a bootleg of Tron and Blaine managed to find one of Burlesque. Kurt smells a clash of interests somewhere in there. He's ready to apologize for crashing in unannounced, but then Blaine opens the door and beams at him like Kurt's just the person he wanted to see. He's wearing a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants and his hair's a little ruffled. Kurt can't find words for the life of him.

Wes shoulders his way in, swinging his shoulder bag down and riffling through it. “We've got one more. Kurt's stuck here.”

“Well, we're happy to have you.” Blaine puts an arm around him in a quick half-hug and Kurt knows he's probably flushing too pink to pass it off as the chill from being out in the parking lot. “Let's do this.”

It's icy and awful outside, a complete waste of a weekend, and the four of them spend far too much time popping crumpled bills into the persnickety Vitamin Water machine downstairs, but it's worth it when they tote their purchases back up to Blaine and David's room.

“Why,” asks David, “do you even have a bottle of Jack?”

“To brush my teeth,” Wes answers neatly. David smacks him lightly on the back of the head and goes back to fiddling with his laptop.

Blaine just gets down to business and starts mixing drinks in a few mismatched mugs. The one he passes to Kurt says _Dalton Academy Honor Council_ on it. “Tell me if it's too strong and I'll get you another.”

Whiskey doesn't taste so bad when it's mixed with acai berry. Who knew?

Tron isn't Kurt's cup of tea, but the alcohol makes everything feel pleasant and Blaine lets him lean on his shoulder while Wes and David have meaningful conversations about how hot Olivia Wilde is. That helps. It's not as if Kurt's having much luck concentrating on the plot anyway.

Blaine's always so buttoned-up that seeing him in something casual is almost like seeing him naked, and Kurt can't unthink that comparison once he's made it. They're sitting side by side on Blaine's bed, backs to the wall and feet dangling over the side, and the combination of _Blaine, bed_ , and _practically naked_ are making Kurt very grateful he's wearing jeans instead of the slightly less forgiving uniform slacks.

Someone, at some Olivia-Wildeless point in the movie, suggests Never Have I Ever, which is just a fast track to depleting more of Wes's alcohol. Kurt gets one over on all three of them with “never have I ever had brown eyes,” Blaine gets him right back with “never have I ever changed a tire,” and it feels like his drink is disappearing awfully fast even after David tops him off. Wes is saying something about never having worn makeup–Blaine and David drink—when Kurt shuts his eyes and leans his head on Blaine's shoulder again.

He thinks maybe he dozes off, since Burlesque is playing the next time he opens his eyes. The game seems to have tapered off, Wes and David are watching as Christina Aguilera's character gets naked, Blaine has an arm around his waist, and he's idiotically horrifically _criminally_ hard in his suddenly-not-hiding-enough jeans.

Kurt doesn't know if he should stay or try and scoot further away. Blaine's going to notice the state he's in, if he hasn't already, and Kurt can't stand the idea of Blaine thinking he's some idiot who can't control himself. “I...” he begins, but then David turns towards Blaine and frowns. “Does she strip again?”

“No,” Blaine admits, “but Cher has this great scene—”

Wes and David exchange glances. “X-Box?” says David.

“X-Box.” Wes finishes his drink and gets to his feet. “Later, guys.”

Blaine snorts once the door closes behind them. “Never have I ever been able to make David sit through a musical.”

It's sort of silly, playing with only two people, but he likes being with Blaine and he doesn't want this to mean he should leave too. Kurt sighs. “Never have I ever had a solo at this school.”

Blaine gives him one of those small smiles. “Never have I ever worn boots that take half an hour to lace up.”

“They zip,” Kurt protests, “it's just hidden.” Weekends are one of the only times he gets to be creative with his wardrobe anymore. But he rolls his eyes, picks his mug off the windowsill, and takes a sip anyway.

The room is dim, he's sitting on a bed with Blaine, and his drink is almost gone. Timing is everything and Kurt doesn't know if this is particularly _good_ timing, but he has to try. “Never have I ever kissed a boy. Voluntarily.”

Blaine looks at him the way he does sometimes, like he can see everything that's spinning around in Kurt's head and isn't afraid of any of it. “Now you have.”

And that has to mean something, but it takes Kurt a few seconds to realize _what_ even though he can still feel the phantom press of Blaine's lips against his own. Chaste, blink-and-you-miss-it brief.

Kissing. Blaine _kissed_ him. The taste of whiskey and strawberry is strong in his mouth and Burlesque is still playing on David's laptop with the volume down.

Somehow, he finds his voice. “Never have I ever wanted to do that more than I do now.”

Blaine takes his hand and Kurt grips it. Then Blaine is pulling him in close and Kurt doesn't think he's _ever_ been this hard this fast—and he sort of wants to lock himself in the bathroom—but Blaine doesn't laugh at him. Not at all.

His brain is swirling with thoughts he can't articulate. _Please don't push me away, I want to touch you anywhere you'll let me even though I don't know what I'm doing, but I'll do my best if you'll just let me try_. Blaine is kissing him, harder this time, and Kurt doesn't know how to respond to that except by moaning and clinging to him, and then Blaine _stops_. “I won't do anything you don't want. I promise.”

“I do want it.”

Blaine's voice is so quiet, matching the soft strokes of his hand at the back of Kurt's neck. “Can you tell me what you want?”

Could that question _possibly_ be any more loaded? _You. Anything. Kiss me again._ “I just—” He glances down, trying to collect himself, trying to hold Blaine's hand tightly enough to hide the fact that he feels ready to shiver apart entirely.

Those pajama pants are so thin he can see the bulge of Blaine's cock tenting the front of them. His _cock_. Blaine's here, touching him and getting _hard_ from touching him, and it's so unbelievable that Kurt reaches over, rubbing his palm there before his better judgment fights through the alcohol in his system. He's floored when Blaine gasps and bucks into his hand. Kurt stares at him, heartbeat throbbing in his temples. “I wan—I've never—okay?”

And Blaine is nodding and they're both trying to pull Kurt's shirt off and his boots might have zippers but they still seem to take forever to remove and Blaine's hands on his barebare _bare_ skin are almost too much and then his mouth presses there at the center of Kurt's chest, right where he swears his heart's trying to burst through. “I thought about this so much, Kurt, you don't even know.”

He doesn't. Blaine's always chivalrous to a fault. “Y-you think about me?” Stuttered, stunned.

“All the time.” Blaine's eyes are gentle; his hands are framing his face now and Kurt can't even be worried about his pores. “How you sing or how you smile or the sounds you'd make if—”

“If?” Turning to let his lips brush against the hollow of Blaine's palm.

Blaine presses him lightly over the fly of his jeans, voice just above a whisper. “If I made you come.”

Fuckfuckfuckity _fuck_. Kurt's breath spikes sharply through his teeth.

“Would you like that?”

His fingers tangle in Blaine's shirt, soaking up the warmth of his back. “Please.”

Blaine's mouth is on him, tongue fluttering into his mouth, and Kurt does the first thing he thinks of, gripping that shirt and tugging until Blaine wiggles out of it. A fingertip trips across his waistband, teasing. He's damp, heat spreading, cock nudging out the front of his underwear, Blaine's mouth wet on his own.

“I can't believe no one's ever touched you. They have no clue what they're missing.”

He sounds almost awed. Kurt's squirming at the attention and at being half-naked like this in front of someone for the first time. He's self-conscious, but Blaine looks his fill and kisses him, slips his arms around him, and Kurt's ready to come just from the feel of skin against skin. All it takes is seeing him like this, _feeling_ him, the two of them there together with Blaine practically on his _lap_ , and then Blaine's hand is between his legs, right over the line of his cock.

“I won't be able to...” he starts, but then Blaine _presses_ and Kurt groans and he can feel Blaine hard there, through his pants, brushing against Kurt's thigh.

“It's fine,” Blaine says, mouth skimming Kurt's ear. “Show me. It's okay.”

Kurt layers his own hand over Blaine's. Pushes down. Arches up.

Blaine's fingers curl, like he's trying to learn the shape of him through the denim, and he actually _licks_ just behind Kurt's ear, kissing there again when he makes Kurt whimper. One of his own hands curves against the side of Blaine's bare waist, skin there as hot as his own feels, and then Blaine bears down with both his hand and his hips, squeezing Kurt through his jeans as he's grinding against him like it's easy and natural and _right_. “ _Kurt_.”

He sounds nothing at all like himself, looser, more fragile. Kurt doesn't need anything else. “ _Oh_.”

 _God_. He's a wreck, shaking against the covers and both their hands, Blaine still squeeze-stroking slowly despite the mess Kurt can feel in his briefs. Came—came for Blaine, while Blaine _touched_ him. Kurt squirms as he comes down to earth again, spine smoothing out, heat starting to dissipate only to surge right back through him to the thought of even _trying_ to look Blaine in the eye after this. _Fuck_. He hasn't come like this in...well, ever, if he's being politically correct. Never with an audience.

But Blaine is guiding his head up, kissing him again, not seeming to mind how clumsy Kurt is at returning the favor until finally he ducks away in embarrassment, not seeming to mind the damp patch on the front of his own pants. Kurt knows what that means, but he can't quite process it.

“You...ah...are you okay?” He feels shy, abruptly, unsure where to settle his eyes and hands. “That was...”

“Voluntary?” Blaine suggests, and he's smiling, lighting up the whole half-lit dorm room. “I hope?”

The metallic edge of apprehensiveness building in Kurt's stomach disappears. His mouth feels too wet, a little numb, and he knows he looks about ten years old when he grins, but he can't help it and Blaine doesn't seem to care. “Definitely.”

The next time Blaine kisses him, he doesn't turn away.


End file.
